


Liquid Gold

by systemscheck



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dubious Consent, Other, Sharkticon Whisperer AU, barbarian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck
Summary: The desert will pick your struts clean.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	Liquid Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Because Sharkticon Megatron is apparently a toy that exists.

Gusts of wind stirred up miniscule bits of grit that somehow found their way into every seam. Despite how Optimus had flattened his plating to avoid this very thing, he could feel the dirt grinding against and irritating sensitive servos. He hunched a little further in his seat and tried to remind himself that he only had to wait a little longer before Jazz returned, or Ironhide, or other members of the protection detail who’d accompanied Optimus on this trip.

So far, none of the guards had come back. Sitting still while the crystalline desert sapped their energy and strength was difficult, and one by one they’d volunteered to leave and look for a way out of the wasteland. Optimus had tried to keep in touch via comm, but the mineral-rich environment ensured that any signals transmitted over further than a couple kilometers were hopelessly scrambled. As he shuttered his optics against the stinging dust, Optimus wished he had insisted Bluestreak stay behind. The mech was so young, and had only just completed his training. Letting him come along was an indulgence Optimus had allowed after Bluestreak had begged for the honor. Optimus feared he would fare badly in the scorching heat and punishing terrain.

Still, Optimus had to admit his desire was also motivated by longing for some company. Enduring these horrible conditions was one thing, but the toll of doing so completely alone was another hardship altogether. Worst of all, Optimus only had himself to blame for ending up in this situation. He was the one who’d suggested taking a short cut to the village, impatient to get there sooner and perform the rites they’d requested.

The sun beat down like a barrage of powerful lasers. Optimus squinted against the dazzling expanse of pale dust, whose reflections formed a spectrum of colours that danced in his vision. Glitching optics were a bad sign. His CPU was overheating, and if Optimus didn’t find shelter soon, his entire processor would go into meltdown. He had to get away. Getting to his feet with a painful crunch, Optimus tried to stretch his joints. He sent one last hail to his guards, and was unsurprised to be met by silence. He was left with no other choice.

Transforming went less smoothly than usual. Optimus rocked on his tyres as the sand instantly shifted under his chassis, though when he started his engine he managed to move a bit. The dune didn’t offer any traction for his wheels. He wasn’t driving so much as churning through the desert floor. It got exhausting very quickly.

Optimus’ tyres spun uselessly and as he sunk deeper into the sand, the stuff muffled his external sensors. Letting himself get buried by the desert seemed like a good idea, if it prevented sunlight from getting to him. Optimus was too tired to fight his way out anyway. He stopped moving and his exhausted processor took the opportunity to rest, shutting down parts of his frame in an effort to conserve resources.

A surefire way to wake up someone in deep stasis was through pain. No other stimulus triggered the awake condition as quickly, or effectively; Optimus learnt this first-hand when alertness overcame him in a dizzying rush just as his sensor net spasmed in agony, relays firing.

Optimus’ horn went off and the pain disappeared. His visual scanners were still coated in sand. He had to look around in root mode to see that it was a rotund little creature that had attacked him, grinning to reveal a mouth crammed full of razor-sharp teeth. A Sharkticon. They were supposed to originate from the Sea of Rust, though Optimus figured the desert hellscape wouldn’t have been complete without some form of awful wildlife.

“Move along,” Optimus said, sending a desperate plea to Primus that the thing would leave him alone. He didn’t want to step onto it.

The Sharkticon made a funny chattering noise and skittered away. Optimus vented deeply.

Whatever disruption happened to comm signals here must have messed up Optimus’ prayer too, because the Sharkticon returned. With friends.

Optimus slowly turned around in a circle as he was surrounded by dozens of hungry, noisy monsters. Their huge optics glowed with excitement. He hoped they would be quick.

The Sharkticons surged forward.

#

Confronted by a blinding lack of pain, Optimus cautiously withdrew his hands from his face. He looked down at the Sharkticons bumping against his pedes and making dull clanging noises.

Lifting up his foot, Optimus put it down again only for the little things to repeat that action. When he tried going in the opposite direction, they didn’t try to impede his movement. Experimentally, Optimus went along and was allowed to move forward a couple of meters before getting blocked again. No, not blocked—redirected. The Sharkticons were herding him somewhere.

Bereft of any other option, Optimus trudged across the desert with the instruction of these unlikely guides.

The Sharkticons led him to a roughly constructed structure that stuck out like a makeshift grave marker in the desert sand, dedicated to the poor souls who had deactivated in this terrible place. Optimus still felt a surge of hope stir in his spark. This was the first sign of intelligent life he’d seen for hours. Where there were people, there was help.

While the majority of the Sharkticons corralled Optimus outside, some of them went into the shelter. Optimus shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

A hulking beast of a mech emerged.

Optimus shrank back entirely by instinct, but forced himself to greet the other person politely.

There was no response. Optimus tried speaking Vosnian, and when that failed, the more offbeat dialects Jazz had once tried to teach him after losing a bet, but the mech completely failed to understand. When the mech finally opened his own mouth, it was to say something in a language Optimus had never heard before.

“I’m sorry,” Optimus said. “I can’t understand you.”

The mech shrugged, his armored pauldrons shifting and clinking in a way that emphasized their size. Without further attempt at communication, he turned around.

Swallowing hard, Optimus followed him inside.

The interior of the structure was a lot more hospitable than it looked on the outside. Instead of the suspiciously clean weapons or greyed frames Optimus had been imagining would serve as decoration, the space was merely filled with all manner of salvage. He was in the home of a scavenger, and no matter how shabby Optimus was simply glad to be out of the sun. His only complaint concerned the ever-present Sharkticons.

The scavenger plopped down on the only chair. The Sharkticons ambled over to nuzzle at his ankles, one of them scrambling up to be petted. Optimus wasn’t sure if he was allowed to sit and so remained standing awkwardly, resisting the urge to wring his hands by clenching them into fists. Now that he was in the shade, other discomforts came to the fore, chief among which was his hunger. Optimus gave a longing glance at a murky container full of something he hoped was fuel.

Catching this, the scavenger smiled just as sharply as the Sharkticons that seemed to obey him. He levered himself up and drew Optimus some fuel. Optimus took a sip. Despite the funny taste, Optimus was glad that the energon was clear and free of contaminants. He greedily sucked down the rest of the fuel in one go, wondering what the temple elders would say if they could see their Prime forget all his dignified manners. As he drank, the scavenger launched into a small speech of sorts, and one word kept coming up. Something that sounded like “Megatron”, perhaps his name. Optimus decided that it was better than knowing nothing about the mech.

Megatron was staring at his face.

“What is it,” Optimus said, feeling abruptly self-conscious. He knew he was all scratched-up and filthy from his travels, but something like that shouldn’t have bothered the battered silver mech.

Megatron frowned. Optimus was seized by a stab of fear, which only increased as Megatron approached, tilting his chin up and bending down to—to kiss him. The sensation of Megatron’s hot, slick glossa dipping into the side of his mouth was so surprising that Optimus only thought to draw away after Megatron had already straightened back up, looking very pleased.

“How could you,” Optimus breathed, touching the wet spot on his cheek in horror. He set the empty cube down and marched over to the scavenger, fully intent on lecturing the mech. He was the Prime, and even sparklings knew never to intrude upon his divinity. Optimus had never ventured outside without a retinue of no fewer than six mechs between himself and the common people, and although he understood this was to protect the relic he carried more than his own person, he had been expecting Megatron to respect this as well.

Megatron watched with one hand propped under his chin as Optimus asked where his reverence for the Primacy was at loud volume.

Perhaps it was foolish thinking. Optimus was beginning to comprehend how little respect the open wastes had for life, no matter how sacred, and desiring any different from this monstrous mech who made his home here was stupid.

Bored of the shorter mech’s yelling, Megatron simply brushed him aside and picked up the discarded cube. There were some glowing streaks of energon left behind, and Megatron ran a pointy claw through these remnants and began licking them off.

With a hot flush of embarrassment, Optimus realised that this was probably the intent behind the ‘kiss’ Megatron had bestowed upon him earlier. Leave it to a scavenger to treasure every last drop of energon he could find, no matter their location.

Megatron smirked at Optimus and held up his hand, light reflecting off the tip of his wickedly sharp talon and the energon that coated it. He made a beckoning gesture.

Optimus stepped forwards semi-involuntarily. The cube Megatron had given him had only been half-full, and his tanks were still sloshing emptily. He wanted the fuel.

Carefully, Optimus braced his hands on the armrests of Megatron’s chair—a throne, really, composed of rusty junk welded together with zero craftsmanship. He opened his mouth and waited as Megatron fed his finger inside.

Maybe because Optimus was hyper-aware of Megatron’s every move, or that he was forced to savour the energon extremely slowly, Optimus discovered that this method of fuelling enhanced his sense of taste. Megatron’s finger pricked at the back of his intake and Optimus had to fight down the urge to retch, letting the scavenger probe around the inside of his mouth. There wasn’t any more for him to eat, but Megatron was perfectly content letting Optimus continue sucking on his claw.

The digit was large enough to make Optimus think twice about trying to pull away. If Megatron didn’t cooperate, it would be all too easy for Optimus to suffer serious injury. And so he waited, uncomfortably bent at the waist and drooling a little.

Megatron’s engine made a rumbling noise. They were close enough for the vibrations to jolt Optimus’ frame, and he had to fight to stay still. A whimper escaped Optimus’ throat, nearly muffled by the finger shoved inside.

Eventually, Megatron took pity on Optimus and released him.

As night fell, the day’s troubles caught up to Optimus and he felt completely drained. Megatron showed him to a small pile of turbofox furs, though the scavenger didn’t lie down to recharge as well. Optimus curled up gratefully on the smelly makeshift bed. The last thing he heard before slipping offline was the roar of flight engines as Megatron took off.

#

Optimus came to aching all over and extremely disappointed that he hadn’t hallucinated everything. In lieu of the opulent palace that the Prime usually resided in, he was stuck inside a hovel built entirely of trash, dependent on the goodwill of an unintelligible savage for his survival. This was the kind of scenario Optimus very much preferred watching in holodramas as compared to experience in real life.

Megatron hadn’t come home yet. Dawn was just beginning to light up the horizon, and it made sense that the scavenger would take advantage of the cooler, darker hours to do his business in the desert. No matter how badly Optimus wanted to, setting off on his own at this time would be patently ridiculous. Megatron’s flight mode and familiarity with the surroundings meant that he could easily track Optimus down and kill him for the theft of the scavenger’s fuel.

He wasn’t left alone with his morose thoughts for long. Megatron returned with a whole lot of scrap hanging on the underside of his alt mode, and as he hovered in place the Sharkticons nibbled away the netting to release the stuff. They then withdrew a respectful distance and waited for Megatron to throw some debris their way, which was devoured in seconds. Megatron marched inside his home dragging the rest of his haul, and Optimus had to step aside to let him through.

As the sky brightened, the desert shone pure white. Optimus was struck by how beautiful the landscape looked like when he wasn’t dying out there.

Back in the city, the crowds would be gathering for the morning prayers. Optimus and his retinue were not due to return for another day, and so a lesser priest would be in charge of leading the catechism. He brought up the text and felt tears prick the corner of his optics.

Megatron came back out and leaned against the doorpost, almost interrupting Optimus mid-recital. However, the scavenger made no move to bother him and merely listened with his head tilted inquisitively.

Optimus finished. He had no doubt that Megatron hadn’t understood a single word, but it seemed like the mech had enjoyed himself.

#

There wasn’t much to do besides watch Megatron sort scrap. Optimus was thoroughly discouraged from poking around by the bands of roving Sharkticons, who weren’t shy about their affection for Megatron. And so, he sat and observed the way Megatron organised stuff into neat piles. If he was planning to trade his salvage, it followed that there were others like him living out there, defying all odds to scrounge a living from this inhospitable place.

Optimus tried pointing out things and asking Megatron about them, and the scavenger seemed to welcome the chance to talk. This one-sided conversation provided more data for the linguistics program Optimus was working on. Optimus was very glad he’d gotten this specialised software during his time as an archivist. Disregarding the circumstances, he also relished the opportunity to discover something new. Perhaps once he was rescued, the temple would give him some time off to publish a study of this language.

Optimus clung onto this idea as the days passed. He could feel his insides withering away on the poor fuel, and not very much of it besides. For such a massive mech, Megatron’s frame was either far more efficient or already conditioned to subsisting on this quality. Optimus commed his guards for help every hour to no avail. All his systems were shading into the red. He felt worse by the day.

Summoning up the last of his courage, Optimus said, “Megatron.”

The scavenger’s red optics were instantly on him. Bravely forging ahead while he still had his attention, Optimus asked for more fuel.

Megatron didn’t reply for some time, and Optimus was afraid his effort to learn the other mech’s language was for naught. Turning away, Optimus went back to work on the piece of scrap he was cleaning.

The noise of splashing liquid made him look back again. Megatron had used the tap to fill another cube, this time all the way. The liquid glowed even more beautifully than the finest gem. Optimus was transfixed.

Carefully holding the cube, Megatron sat down on his throne again. Was he honestly going to drink it in a breathtaking display of sadism? Optimus crossed his arms.

Smiling, Megatron told him to come closer. He held out the full cube, and Optimus crept forward step by step, hardly daring to believe his luck.

The cube tipped right into Megatron’s lap. Energon spilled across his plating, a staggering waste. He’d done that deliberately. For what purpose, Optimus didn’t know. Optimus was about to march away in a huff when Megatron abruptly seized him by the shoulder.

“Don’t want?” Megatron asked, speaking slowly so that Optimus could understand.

In a flash, Optimus understood all too well. It would be mortifying, but his need was dire. Scowling at the laughing scavenger, Optimus knelt down and started licking the fuel off.

Try as he might, there was no avoiding the inevitable effect this had on Megatron. Optimus tried to lick only the energon only on his thighs and hips, but once he was done with those parts he was still hungry. Optimus steeled himself and bent over Megatron’s panels.

The big mech was obviously loving every moment. He made an approving noise and splayed his legs further apart, even tugging on the antennae on Optimus’ head to guide him. As more energon trickled into his tank, Optimus felt his physical condition improve. His emotional state was another matter altogether.

Almost all the energon was gone. Thinking of how the humiliation was nearly over, Optimus licked with perhaps more vigour than intended. His tender little tongue dipped into sensitive transformation seams, caressing the scavenger’s rough metal with a delicacy Megatron probably hadn’t felt in vorns.

Megatron’s spike sprung out and jabbed Optimus in the face.

Megatron said something. Optimus could only stare, frozen, until Megatron was putting a hand on his helm and forcing him closer. Sedated by surprise and the soporific effect of heavy energon processing, he could only sit on his haunches as Megatron thrust into his open mouth, the holy vessel of Primus reduced into a scavenger’s spikesleeve.

The hot length of metal lodged in Optimus’ mouth twitched. That was the only warning he got before Megatron groaned and Optimus choked on a deluge of fluid. He swallowed automatically, and to his shock it was richer than the fuel he’d been subsisting on. Optimus wiped at the side of his mouth and yearned for another taste.

He went to sleep satisfied for the first time in weeks, and comfortable. Self-repair was chugging away fine thanks to the greater allocation of resources.

#

Megatron drew the usual half-cube for him the next day. It was like nothing had changed, and Optimus had to feel the dents on the side of his head to remind himself of what happened. Optimus thanked him for the fuel and tackled the few tasks Megatron had laid out: simple repairs he carried out if only for the lack of anything better to do. Nothing untoward was asked of him, and the scavenger was perfectly content to let hours pass by in mutual silence.

Optimus gave up on looking for a way out. From their few, terse conversations, he learnt that navigating the desert on his own would be madness. Megatron wasn’t interested in guiding him to civilisation or any other scavengers. When the occasional stranger showed up in their area, Megatron was quick to run the new arrival off his turf before Optimus could even speak to them. The only company he tolerated was Optimus, and the Sharkticons. He was surly, prone to random bouts of violence and possibly unhinged. For all his faults, he was actually quite a reasonable mech. Whenever Optimus desired additional fuel, he merely had to get down on his knees. Megatron very quickly caught on that the transfluid he produced was a preferable source of nutrition, and allowed Optimus to refuel on his spike more often than not.

It wasn’t long before Megatron was showing Optimus alternative ways of accessing this energy source. Optimus could get Megatron’s spike ready by letting it penetrate his valve, though more than once the scavenger spilled his precious fluids inside the wrong port. The overloads Optimus got served as poor compensation.

The vows of celibacy Optimus had sworn were too easily forgotten when he was hungry. Optimus got used to waiting for Megatron with his legs spread and framing his valve, the sight of which never failed to secure Megatron’s attention. Then, Megatron would dump the scrap he’d collected outside, not even bothering to warn the Sharkticons away from the more valuable items, and come inside to spike Optimus’ brains out. Once or twice, he’d let Optimus lap the lubricant that dripped from his own valve, tangy with minerals and far more delicious than the fancy coolant devotees tithed to the temple.

#

In time, Optimus reconciled with his new life. He commed his guards with decreasing frequency, first every day, and then week, and before he knew it an entire month had slipped by before he even thought to transmit a signal.

Stars glowed in the night sky bright enough to rival Iacon’s golden spires. Optimus fiddled with a bit of metal which he was breaking off and tossing to the Sharkticons, who playfully gambolled around his feet. Jazz once had the misfortune to deal with a smuggling case that involved these creatures, and the experience had made him refuse to take on any mechanimal-related affairs thereafter. He would be completely gobsmacked by how comfortable Optimus was with these things. Just on a whim, Optimus tried sending him a message.

 **Jazz:** Is this some kind of joke?  
**Jazz:** I don’t care if his funeral has been over for months, impersonating a major public figure can and will land you in jail.

The scrap fell from his fingers and the Sharkticons all dived for it.

#

The constant flash of camera lights highlighted every curve of the Prime’s armour, and Tripodeca was careful to take in every last micron of it. There was no doubt that the mech had made a full recovery. The reporter himself had been present when Optimus had miraculously turned up again on the outskirts of the desert wastes, dented and dirty but still very much alive. Some annoying temple monks had tried to shoo away the media upon his reappearance, claiming that making visual record of the Prime in such a state was unholy. Tripodeca had sold the first images of the poor bot for a cool million shanix, and was eager to repeat his success here.

Bombarded by questions and recording devices on every side, Prime looked like the very picture of patience. Tripodeca decided to include this line in his report later, pleased with how it sounded. He prided himself on capturing the authentic side of everyone, no matter how famous.

“Do you feel like Primus had abandoned you,” someone shouted. Tripodeca winced a little at the insensitivity of the question, but Optimus took it in stride. He shook his head and smiled.

“On the contrary. I left the desert with an even more profound understanding of how much he cares. Regardless of the situation, Primus will provide.”

 _Primus will provide_ , Tripodeca noted. This was the kind of placating nonsense the masses would just eat up.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if i catfished u with the idea of monster hybrid scaly megs...perhaps another fic XD


End file.
